


Future's So Bright

by romanticalgirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Making Up, Post-Divorce, Sex Instead of Talking about Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Nate's life has changed in a lot of ways, so he goes back to the beginning, goes back to where who he wanted to be really began.Which means going back to Brad Colbert.Brad's not sure how he feels about that.





	Future's So Bright

Brad sees the dust on the horizon before the remote cameras switch on and the sound of tires on gravel fills the air. He leans against the wall and stares at the truck parked outside his house. He doesn’t recognize it, and no one comes out here unless they’re family or invited, which means whoever this is, it’s probably not someone he wants to talk to. 

He’s about to go out and invite whoever it is off his property with a sawed-off shotgun that’s more for effect that efficiency when Nate Fick gets out of the truck. He’s wearing tennis shoes and jeans and a Dartmouth t-shirt he probably got when they named him to the board of trustees, because there’s no way in hell it’s from Nate’s days there. 

Processing all of that is much easier than actually processing what the fuck Nate Fick is doing at his house. How Nate even knows where his house is. And why, after all of this time, he thinks visiting Brad is a wise thing to do.

He doesn’t take the shotgun, but he does open the door before Nate can knock, giving him some advantage. Except, from the look on Nate’s face, it’s clear Brad did exactly what he expected.

“I’d say I wouldn’t have pegged you for a mountain man survivalist, but I actually would have.” Nate’s hands are in his pockets and he rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and then back down onto his heels. “Hey, Brad.”

“Nate.” Brad doesn’t do a lot of talking when he’s at home. His two dogs don’t need much verbal communication, and he’s got no one else around. The only practice he gets is Skype and FaceTime calls to his family and his guys, or when he picks up groceries from Ellen in town. His voice is slightly scratchy, and it bothers him how well the word still fits in his mouth.

“I saw the interview you did.”

“Fucking anniversaries.” Brad nods. “You coming in?”

“I brought some beer.” Nate shrugs. “Figured it’d be a good peace offering.”

“Depends on the beer.” Brad doesn’t move as Nate goes back to his truck. He comes back, holding up a wooden crate with twelve bottles of Brouwerij De Sint-Sixtusabdij van Westvleteren Westvleteren 12. “You’re shitting me.”

“This suffice?” Nate smiles and holds the beer out to Brad. 

“Didn’t realize you were friends with fucking Trappist monks.”

“It’s amazing who you get to know in DC.” He nods down at the beer and Brad finally takes it. “Can I tell you it’s good to see you?”

“You can tell me whatever you like.” Brad moves out of the doorway and heads to the kitchen. He hears the door shut behind him, behind Nate. Footsteps follow his, the sound of Nate pulling out one of the wooden chairs at the table louder than the clinking of the bottles as Brad sets them on the counter. He opens two of the beers, grabs two glasses, and goes to the table, pouring them carefully as Nate sits, then he sits down as well, taking a sip and holding it just for a moment, savoring it like he would good whiskey.

Nate just takes a sip of his own, then sets his glass back on the table. Once Brad swallows he does the same and raises an eyebrow. Nate laughs softly. “You are not subtle.” 

“I’m not the one who showed up on your doorstep uninvited. Sir.”

“It’s amazing what venom you can put into a three letter word.” Nate sighs and takes another drink. “How are you?”

“Fine and dandy.” Brad smirks at Nate, eyebrow raised in challenge. “You know, suffering from PTSD, lecturing, target practice. You said you saw the interview.”

“I asked how you are, not what you’re doing.” 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Nate?” It’s a question and a statement, and Brad hates that he gave in and asked. 

“I’d say I wanted to see you, but I’m pretty sure you’d shoot me with something painful if not lethal. But I did. Want to see you. See how you’re doing.”

“I have a counselor. Don’t need another one.”

“As a friend.”

“We were never friends.” Brad takes another drink, swallowing hard. “You were my commanding officer, you were my… You weren’t my friend.”

“Bullshit.” Nate’s mouth thins to a line. “We were friends. Brothers. You know more about me than anyone else in the world other than my family. You might even know me better than them.”

“Yeah, well. That was a long time ago. Whatever we were ended when you decided you weren’t interested in waiting. When Washington called and you found yourself a nice wife, had a couple of kids, lived the American dream. I’ll bet there’s even a white picket fence somewhere. Probably along the garden path you’re all skipping down.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t wait. You told me I shouldn’t bother.”

“I told you we both knew the odds,” Brad snaps, then takes a deep breath, searching for the Iceman persona he’s always worn, cultivated, lived. Fuck Nate Fick and his ability to shatter the mask, melt the ice Brad needs around him more than anyone else. “That waiting wasn’t the smartest idea. I didn’t think I’d come back and find out you were fucking _married_.”

“It wasn’t something I was looking for.”

“Funny, because you sure found it fast enough.” Brad takes another drink, counting silently in his head until he can breathe evenly. “What are you doing here, Nate? Nuclear family implode?”

“Something like that.”

“And so you thought, what? That you’d just walk into my life again? That we’d pick up where we left off? That I’d give you the happily ever after she didn’t?”

“I thought I’d come by with some good beer and talk to you. Tell you I’m sorry. Tell you that I never meant to hurt you. Tell you that I’ve never stopped loving you. Tell you I’m glad you’re doing okay, glad you’re getting help and helping others.”

“Because you knew I’d hang up the goddamned phone.”

“Because I knew you’d hang up the phone. And I thought, maybe, you’d be willing to talk to me face to face. You always were one for direct confrontation. Face and know thine enemy.”

“I’m a Marine, sir. We don’t know fuck all about our enemy. We just go where we’re pointed.” Brad crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. 

“And I’m not your enemy.”

“You’re not anything.”

He can see the barb hit Nate. His green eyes flash with something Brad’s seen too often in his own reflection since he’d come back a year early to the notice of Nate’s wedding and a bunch of boxes in storage.

“I know you’ve never been scared. I know everything washes over you because that’s how you’ve willed it to be. I was scared, Brad. Scared for you. Scared of us.”

“Scared your career wouldn’t survive some big gay scandal? That you’d offend too many politicians if they thought you were fucking a guy? Or worse, that you were taking it up the ass? Funny, because I’m pretty sure _that’s_ what politics is all about.”

“Scared that you wouldn’t come home.”

“Yeah, well, I’d believe you more if your answer to all of that fear wasn’t disappearing yourself from my life, wasn’t finding some nice pussy to sink into for the public.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“No? Did you talk to her about me? Did she know your dirty little secret?”

“She knew there was someone.”

“Someone. Let me guess, she assumed it was one of those perky little interns from your work. Figured you were pulling a little Monica Lewinsky action. She know you like dick, Nate? She know how much you used to beg for my cock?”

“Shut up.” Nate’s eyes are closed for a long moment, then they open, sandy blond lashes over sharp green eyes. “I don’t regret her or the girls, but I…”

“You what, sir? Regret me?”

“Stop calling me sir.”

“What do you want me to call you?” Brad leans in, hand on the table, crowding into Nate’s space. “Nate? Sweetheart? Baby? What’d I used to call you, Nate? What did I call you while you were riding my cock or while I was pounding you into our mattress, huh? What did _she_ call you?”

Nate’s hands snake out and he holds Brad’s face in his hands. They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, and then Nate moans roughly in the instant before his mouth closes over Brad’s. 

Brad’s actually embarrassed by the sound he makes, but he can’t help it. Nate’s mouth is familiar and different all at once. It’s strange with his beard, something he never had before with Nate, never more than rough morning stubble. 

He hears the scrape of Nate’s chair and then Nate’s kneeling in front of Brad, kissing him over and over. Short and rough before long and exploring, relearning the shape of each other’s mouths. Brad sinks off his chair to his knees as well, tipping Nate to the side and following him down, bracing himself on the kitchen floor as he kisses him, tastes him like that’s all he needs to keep on breathing.

He doesn’t know who starts to undress whom, just knows that he feels Nate’s skin under his hands, feels Nate’s hands on his back, over his ass. Brad shucks out of his jeans and shirt, his briefs. Nate’s naked underneath him and Brad feels like everything inside him is filled with helium.

Nate’s hands are smooth on Brad’s skin, and his own are calloused as he strokes Nate’s sides, as he rubs the outside of his thighs, then parts Nate’s legs. Nate makes a low noise that’s a groan and a whimper in one, and Brad breaks their kiss. Nate looks up at him through hazy eyes, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks.

“Christ,” Brad groans and moves to Nate’s neck, mouthing at the column of his throat, biting and sucking and licking his way down to Nate’s shoulders, his collarbones, his nipples, his stomach, his cock. Nate writhes on the floor beneath him and, glancing up, Brad can see the darkening patches of red on Nate’s pale skin from the scratch of Brad’s beard.

“B-brad.” Nate pants roughly. Brad slides his hands under Nate’s ass and lifts him off the floor, nuzzling at Nate’s perineum until he works his legs over Brad’s shoulders. Brad braces Nate high enough that he can flick his tongue over Nate’s hole, that he can let the tip tease the furled skin. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.”

That’s all Brad needs to pull him closer. He closes his mouth over Nate’s opening, licking at it, working it open slowly. Nate’s heels dig into Brad’s back as Brad’s tongue thrusts deeper, as he fucks Nate with it, fingers causing the flesh of Nate’s ass to blanch in his tight grip. Nate’s moaning, begging, and Brad’s cock aches, hot even pressed against the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. 

Brad’s face is buried against Nate’s body and Nate writhes on the end of his tongue. Nate’s thighs close around Brad’s beard, and the hitch of his hips is enough to know he’s feeling it. Nate’s hands are closed into fists in Brad’s hair, and he keeps arching up, thrusting against the air. 

“Please. Jesus. Please, Brad. Fuck.” Nate’s voice breaks. “Need you. So fucking much. So fucking long.” Brad pulls back and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, smearing saliva across his face, deeper into his beard. Nate’s cock is hard and leaking, a pool of white gathered on his stomach, a long string of precome hanging down from the tip of his cock. 

Fuck. There’s nothing like Nate’s cock. Brad is already closing his eyes as he opens his mouth, as he takes Nate between his lips and sucks him deep. Nate’s hand jerks, and Brad thinks he may have lost a few hairs, but he can’t think about that, can’t think of anything beyond the unfamiliar familiar taste of Nate. He moans and Nate’s whole body jerks.

“Yes. Fuck. Yes. Need. Fuck. God. No one. No one sucks me like you. Ch-christ.” He fucks Brad’s mouth and Brad takes it. Hungry. Willing. Brad relaxes his throat so he can take Nate deeper, so he can feel the slide of precome at the back before he pulls away so he can tongue the slit. 

Nate moans, words nothing but garbled noises. His hands have moved to Brad’s shoulders, short nails digging in hard enough to leave scratches on Brad’s skin. It’s not much to work with, but Brad slides his fingers in the pool of pre-come on Nate’s stomach and moves his hand down, presses a slick finger against the wet skin of Nate’s hole.

Spit and pre-come slick the way for Brad’s fingers, and Nate hisses at the stretch, but Brad doesn’t stop and soon enough he’s got two fingers buried inside Nate, pressed against Nate’s prostate with every stroke, and Nate is coming down Brad’s throat. Brad doesn’t stop sucking, doesn’t stop finger-fucking Nate until Nate shudders and whispers Brad’s name, his voice sounding broken.

Brad braces himself over Nate, crawling forward just enough that he’s looking Nate in the eye. “That what you came here for, Nate?”

“I…”

“There you go.” He gets to his feet, his cock jutting out dark and hard, long and curved slightly. “Show yourself out. Leave the beer.”

**

Brad sees the dust before the camera kicks on, before he hears gravel under the tires. He sighs and opens the door before Nate’s even parked. “Either you’re stubborn or stupid, and you’re a Marine, so you aren’t stupid, hillbilly donkey fuckers like Ray and Christenson to the contrary.”

“I thought maybe we could talk.”

“You thought that, huh? Pretty sure we did all our talking yesterday.”

“I thought maybe today cooler heads might prevail.” Brad raises an eyebrow and Nate smirks.   
“We could have a conversation instead of a fight.”

“That what yesterday was?”

“What would you call it?”

“Fight works.” Brad turns on his heel and goes into the kitchen. There’s already beer on the table, something of his own, because he’s not wasting premium beer on this. And he’s not sharing. He sits down and opens his beer, waiting as Nate does the same. Brad swings his arm out, hand up. “Your show.”

“I thought if I lost you on my own terms it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

Brad snorts a laugh. “You’re off to an excellent start. Let me guess, your heart will go on.”

“You got hurt. The time before. I didn't know for three months. Even with my contacts. You came home and you’d been _hurt_ , and for some reason I realized right then and there how fucking lucky we were. How ridiculous it was that the only fucking person that got hurt was Pappy. And it scared the shit out of me.”

“This is the bullshit you’re giving me?”

“I started seeing reports after you left. Insurgents, IEDs. Everything centered around where you were, and I started thinking about what I would do if you didn’t come home. And I panicked. I blind fucking panicked.”

“And rather than talk to me about it or something, you decided to bullshit your way through some Skype calls, pretend we’d never been together, and find some…” Brad takes a drink and swallows hard. “Girl. Woman. To spend your life with.”

“We worked together. Got closer. I loved her. Not like you, not the same, but I did. Do.”

“Why now?”

“Because I asked her for a divorce, because loving her wasn’t enough. Because I’m about to change everything about my life. I can’t support the current administration in any way, shape, or form, so I’m going to start something of my own. I’m not quite sure if it’s going to be a think tank, a consulting company, or if I’m going to do something crazy and run for office.”

“And which part of that comes back to our big gay affair?”

“We have fucking Nazis in our fucking government. We have an imbecile as Commander-in-Chief. There’s not enough time to be dishonest with myself. I fucked up. I fucked up because I couldn’t tell you, because I didn’t tell you. I fucked up because I got overwhelmed. I made it through fucking Iraq, but the thought of losing you swamped me. It’s a shitty reason. It’s no excuse. And I can’t apologize for loving and being with her, for having a family with her. But… I’d like… Whatever you think of me personally, you know what kind of man I am, so if we can’t be friends, if we can’t be… anything, I was hoping I might still have your support. And your help.”

“Are you seducing me or recruiting me?”

Nate laughs softly. “Both?”

“What’d you tell her?”

“That I love her and the girls. That I didn’t regret a moment of what we had together. But there was someone else, there was you, and I realized that you’re who I want. Who I need. You always have been.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Yes.” Nate nods, owning it. “It is. Probably one of the shittiest things I’ve ever done. This and what I did to you. But she deserves better than me lying to her. And so do you.”

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“I’d like you to join me and a few friends so we can brainstorm, maybe help me figure out what my best course of action is. “To start. I didn’t… What happened yesterday wasn’t supposed to happen. That wasn’t supposed to be part of it.”

“Yeah? You weren’t going to let me fuck you senseless?”

“I didn’t plan on it, no.”

“Mm.” Brad nods then leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking right at Nate. “How’s the beard burn?”

“Painful.”

His smirk widens into an actual grin. “Good.”

“Good.”

“Trust me, I could have done worse.” Brad leans back even farther, his hands behind his head. “Who are these friends of yours?”

“A couple of guys from CNAS. A guy from Dartmouth. Reporter. Poke and Mike.” Nate closes his eyes and sighs. “Walt. And Ray.”

“So two ass-kissing politicos, a liberal hippy fuck, a porn star reviewer, a wetback job-stealing freeloader, a sane person, a NAMBLA reject, mother fucking retard and the only person capable of keeping him from ending up in a sinkhole in Asswipe Alabama?”

“And you.”

“Jesus. I thought you wanted to make the world a better place.”

“That would.”

“This is why I live in the middle of nowhere.”

“I can’t make the rest of it up to you. I know that. And I know you’re never going to trust me again, and I know I broke something fragile -- something that Ray flayed me alive for breaking -- that can’t ever be repaired. But I trust you like I trust no one else. Trust you to do the right thing, the smart thing, the hard thing. No one’s going to call me on my bullshit the way you do. No one’s going to force me to prove everything. I know I’ve got no right to ask you for anything.”

“You’re right. You don’t.”

“But I’m asking anyway.”

Brad finishes his beer and tosses the bottle into the recycling bin by the door. “My answer’s no.”

“Right.” Nate nods and stands up. “Sorry to have bothered you. Whatever you would call what I’ve done.”

“But I’ll think about it.”

**

The next day after the dust and the camera and the crunch of gravel, Brad opens the door to find Nate standing there with four pizza boxes and a box of wine. It’s an unfair ploy, a reminder of when they lived together, when they used to stay in and mock reality TV shows and fuck in front of the TV while the stray cat that Nate somehow ended up with crawled around on the pizza boxes and gnawed on the leftover crusts. 

“Whatever happened to the cat?”

“Well, right now she’s in my apartment in DC.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.” Nate holds out the wine. “The finest vintage five bucks can buy.”

“I’ll have you know I have a refined palate.”

“You think jalapeno and cheese is haute cuisine.”

Brad raises an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

“You have plates or are we eating out of the boxes like civilized people?”

Brad rolls his eyes, going into the kitchen for napkins and glasses before leading Nate deeper into the house. There’s a den lined with bookcases filled with books on computers and warfare, with science fiction and romance novels mixed in. Nate raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. They spent time in bed reading the latter to each other, more and more dramatically until the book got thrown away and they fucked, trying to make each other laugh with horrible overwrought phrases and purple prose. 

Brad sets the wine on the table and opens it, using the spigot to pour out a glass for each of them. Nate sets the pizzas next to the box and opens one, the smell of tomato sauce, cheese, and grease filling the room. 

Brad takes his glass, a napkin, and the open box and sits in one of the leather chairs. Nate snorts a laugh and sinks down onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, taking one slice from the next box. 

“Pussy,” Brad says around his second bite, mouth lined with red. 

“In DC we have to pretend we’re not gluttons. At least in public.” He bites into his own slice and closes his eyes. “Fuck. I never eat pizza. This is disgusting. And delicious.”

Brad drains his glass and jabs Nate in the thigh with his toes. “More.” He tosses the glass and Nate catches it despite the lack of warning. He refills Brad’s glass, greasy fingerprints making it slick as he hands it back. Their fingers brush and Brad bites the inside of his lip. 

They eat quietly, and Brad doesn’t think about the fact that his foot is still pressed against Nate’s thigh, that he can feel the flex of the muscles each time Nate moves. The TV stays off and Nate asks Brad about his lectures. He lets himself be lured into conversation because whether he likes it or not, no one gets him as well as Nate. He asks good, insightful questions, and he makes Brad think. 

It really shouldn’t turn Brad on as much as it does, but he’s never lied about his competency kink. Hell, that’s what put Nate on his radar at the start. Along with green eyes, long lashes, and a fuckable mouth, and a wicked sense of humor. 

“I keep wanting to go, but they’ve never overlapped with my schedule. I’ve talked to some people who’ve been though. It’s a good thing. What you’re doing. The miniseries made us high-profile and you’re using people knowing how capable and clear-headed you were in battle to take some of the stigma out of having PTSD.”

“Our country treats vets like steaming piles of shit.”

“True.”

Brad shrugs. That says it all as far as he’s concerned. He finishes off another slice of pizza, then puts the box on the table. Nate glances up at him, watching him. Brad’s not completely sure if he’s predator or prey. 

“You think about it?”

“I think if I say no you’re going to end up in Mexico unsure if you screwed the girl or the donkey in the room, a case of crabs the size of Maine, and you’ll probably be pregnant.”

Nate coughs and laughs at once. “Is that a yes?”

“I’d hate to see your reputation get fucked at this juncture.”

Nate licks his lips, then wipes his face with a napkin. His lips are tinted red from the wine and the lighting in the room throws shadows on his face, darkens his eyes. He licks his lips again. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re probably going to regret it.”

“No. There’s nothing about you I’ll ever regret.”

Brad watches Nate swallow. It’s nothing. A simple bodily function. But the tanned skin of Nate’s neck moves with his Adam’s apple, and all Brad can think about is how that skin tastes, how Brad’s tongue would chase the movement, tickling Nate. 

He doesn’t know who pushes the table out of the way. All he knows is he’s on top of Nate again, he’s tasting pizza and wine and _Nate_ in his mouth and on his tongue and it’s even better on Nate’s lips than it was on his own.

Nate wraps his legs around Brad and rolls them over, bracing himself and looking down at Brad. He starts to say something, but Brad grabs the back of Nate’s neck and jerks him down, flicking his tongue over Nate’s throat as he swallows. He gets a moan instead of a laugh and then Nate’s kissing him again.

He’s straddling Brad’s thighs, grinding down on him. Brad grasps Nate’s belt loops and hangs on, using them as leverage to thrust up into him. Brad’s jerked off the past two nights thinking about Nate’s lips, his body, thinking about sinking into him. The reality of Nate on top of him is almost like overload, frying circuits in Brad’s brain. 

He’s loved Nate Fick for a long fucking time. It’s a hell of a lot easier to admit he wants to fuck him.

Nate’s hand snakes between them and he manages to get Brad’s jeans undone before he undoes his own. Then his hand is around them both, cocks sliding together. It’s almost too much, only their pre-come as lubricant, but Nate goes slow, too slow for how much Brad wants. 

Leaning down, trapping them both between them, Nate bites Brad’s earlobe, sucks it into his mouth. His breath is hot and shaky right in Brad’s ear. Brad’s moan melts into a whine as Nate rolls his hips, not stroking them so much as fucking his grip, fucking against Brad’s cock. 

“Yes. Yeah. Nate. Fuck.”

He nips the top curve of Brad’s ear, flicks it with his tongue. Brad writhes up against him, breathing hard. Nate’s voice rumbles through him, shakes Brad’s nervous system when he speaks. “Love you, Brad Colbert. Never stopped.”

This time Brad whimpers, coming in the hot circle of Nate’s hand. Nate keeps thrusting, slick and slippery now, worse when Nate comes, coating Brad’s cock with his orgasm. Nate drops down onto his elbow, still loosely holding them both in his grip. Brad shudders, his body pliant. He thinks Nate’s the only one who’s ever made him surrender.

**

Nate doesn’t come back the next day.

Or the day after that.

Or the one after that.

Brad tosses the leftover pizza, but he drinks the rest of the box of wine. He burns two armfuls of romance novels one a bonfire outside and pisses on it to douse the ashes. 

**

Brad’s not counting, but six days later, there’s dust and gravel. Brad doesn’t bother looking at the cameras. He also doesn’t bother opening the door.

He can hear Nate’s head thump against it. “I know you’re in there, Brad. I don’t have your number, and your agent wouldn’t give it to me. I called the fucking grocery store to ask them to tell you, but you didn’t go into town.”

Brad rests his head on the door. He wants to tell Nate he could have swung by even though Brad’s house is completely out of the way of everything. He wants to tell him that he could have woken Brad up before he left and let him know he was going to disappear. He wants to tell him that waking up alone, covered in dried come, and on his goddamn den floor was almost worse than coming home to Nate being gone. He wants to tell him that a Post-it note saying he went back to the hotel to change doesn’t really explain disappearing for a whole week. He wants to say all those things. He doesn’t. Because saying any of them gives Nate power.

Lets Nate know he has power. That he’s always had it.

Brad exhales and opens the door, stepping back. Nate looks him over, up and down, nothing escaping his sharp notice. Nate always makes Brad feel exposed. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“I had to go back to DC. One of the girls was hurt. Nothing serious, but still. They’re adjusting to this too, you know?”

Brad can’t get upset about a kid. Fuck.

“I’ll give you my contact info.” Nate smiles like he’s won some sort of prize. Brad rolls his eyes. “So, what are you doing here?”

Nate ignores the bite of the comment. “Thought I’d go over everything with you first. Get your input.

“Thought this was a team effort.”

“It is. But I trust you to have my six without question, so I want you going into this knowing what I know.”

“I hate you sometimes, sir.”

Nate laughs. “What kind of commanding officer would I be if you didn’t?”

Nate hands Brad a thumb drive. Brad goes to grab his latest setup, and when he comes back, Nate’s laptop is already on the coffee table and he’s leaning back against the couch as he unlocks his system. Brad inserts the drive and lets it boot up. They’re silent for a long time, both of them reading. Brad makes notes on a legal pad as he goes, grunting a thanks when Nate comes back from the kitchen and hands him a beer.

There’s a glut of information, some of which Brad probably shouldn’t have eyes on, at least in the opinion of the US Government, but Brad’s opinion of the government -- not to mention the intelligence of a large swathe of the country -- hasn’t gotten any more complimentary than it’d been when he was in forest camo and riding in a tin can in the middle of the fucking desert.

Nate’s got it all neatly organized, bullet-pointed and summarized. Each section is followed by questions both on the content and on Nate’s own thoughts on it. Good leaders don’t question themselves. Great leaders listen and learn. Nate was always a great leader, even if he’d ended up being a shit boyfriend. Or whatever they were. They never defined it when they were together, and Brad refused to afterward. 

He makes more notes on his pad, most of them directed toward Nate’s questions. After at least an hour he looks up, and Nate’s watching him. 

“Problem?”

“No.” Nate smiles ruefully. “Yeah. But it’s my problem, not yours.”

“You hungry? I can throw some steaks on the grill.” Nate looks like he’s about to protest, but then his stomach growls and he just shrugs. Brad rolls his eyes and mumbles about self-sacrificing idiots and heads into the kitchen. He doesn’t ask himself why there are two thawed steaks in his refrigerator, because that would be akin to admitting he’s been harboring something like hope.

He pulls them out and beats them with the tenderizer. Nate comes into the kitchen, holding his beer loosely in his fingers. Brad’s spent years not remembering Nate and how it was except for those few nights when he let himself drift, when he let himself go, and he got himself off on the memory of Nate’s mouth and cock and ass, on Nate’s touch and taste and warmth. But Nate here, in the kitchen of Brad’s private sanctuary, brings back a flood of things that hit Brad like taking a 203 to the chest.

“You still like it medium rare?”

“The jokes I could make.” Nate leans against the counter and takes a sip of his beer, loose and easy. His eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. “Yeah.”

The metal head of the tenderizer maybe hits the steak too hard, and Brad sets it aside before he actually ruins good food. Careful not to even glance in Nate’s direction, he starts massaging seasoning in, though he does have to bite his lower lip when Nate chokes. 

It’s the small victories.

**

They give the bones to the dogs, listening to them lick and gnaw at them. The sun’s going down in the trees, and the condensation on the beer bottle is cool against Brad’s hand. Nate is slouched in his chair, his faded jeans like a second skin on his thighs and looser around the tops of his tennis shoes. He’s got his ankles crossed and his eyes closed, his head tilted back and face toward the purplish gray of the sky. Brad watches him, because Nate’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, and Brad might not be cultured, but he knows how to appreciate good work. And Nate Fick is the work of the goddamn old masters. 

“Mm. You’re staring.” Nate doesn’t open his eyes, just tilts his head slightly toward Brad. “Can feel it.”

“Romantic bullshit doesn’t work on me.”

“It’s not romantic. Or bullshit. I’ve always been able to feel you watching me. You burn. And whenever I looked at you, you were already there, looking at me.” Nate opens his eyes and meets Brad’s gaze. “Or maybe every time you looked at me, I was already there looking at you.”

“I don’t know. Seems to me I spent a lot of my time looking at you rolling my eyes because Encino Man was talking or Ray was rambling.” Brad takes a drink of his beer. “And even then it’s still romantic bullshit. Sir.”

Nate’s hand snaps out, striking like a snake, and he grabs Brad by the wrist. Brad twists to get free, but Nate’s grip tightens. His eyes are stormy in the fading light. Something angry, dark, and dangerous swells up inside Brad, but he can see the same primal thing in Nate’s eyes.

“Unless you want to sink down on your knees and do exactly what I say,” Nate jerks Brad’s wrist, pulling him closer to him until the table is jabbed against Brad’s ribs. Brad sucks in a breath and Nate growls. “Don’t call me sir. “

Heat flares along Brad’s spine. They’ve had this argument before after they’d first fallen into bed with each other, two days after they were back stateside. Nate had show up at Brad’s door, shoved his way inside, and sunk down to the floor and sucked Brad’s brains out through his dick. 

The argument had come later than that, because they didn’t do much coherent talking, and sure as fuck no conversation until after the week-long fuck-session that followed.

Brad calmly stares down at Nate’s hand on his wrist. His skin is blanched white around Nate’s grip in stark contrast to the darkness from his tan. Nate’s skin is lightly tanned, mostly his face, but some on his arms. Nothing like Brad. In so many ways.

“We should talk about your shit.” Brad tilts his head back toward the house. “I assume you’ve invited everyone here?”

“I wouldn’t do that without your permission.”

“You invited yourself.”

Nate still doesn’t let go. “I didn’t say I wasn’t an asshole. I just said I wasn’t _that much_ of an asshole.”

“Yes you are.”

Nate smiles and his grip loosens, but then he starts to run his thumb over the pulse in Brad’s wrist. Brad’s good at controlling his heart rate, good at keeping himself calm in insane conditions and under fire. But Nate’s touch is like a live wire on his skin. Nate’s more dangerous than any enemy Brad’s ever faced.

“Yes. I am. But I didn’t. Not without your permission.”

Brad doesn’t realize he’s tugging his arm toward him until Nate stands and follows. He settles on Brad’s lap, knees alongside Brad’s thighs. He pulls Brad’s arm higher, replacing the sweep of his thumb with the slide of his tongue, the touch of his lips. 

Brad knows that this is a bad idea, because he still loves Nate. If he’s honest with himself, he’s still in love with Nate. And Nate broke him. He’s kintsugi -- held together with gold, ready to shatter at the next fall.

“Nate.” Brad shifts his grip so he has Nate’s wrists in his hands, keeping him from touching. “We’re not doing this again.”

“We’re not.” It’s not a question. Brad wonders what his answer would be if it were. 

“You’re getting divorced from someone you were with for a long time. I’m familiar. Comfortable.”

“You’re like hugging a cactus. Sharp and beautiful and dangerous.” Nate shakes his head. “You’re not comfortable, Brad. You _hurt_ , but I’m in love with you. Have been since the first time you opened your mouth and told me off before you realized I was your commanding officer. Loved you more every time you questioned me, fought with me. Loved every word that came out of your mouth, even when it felt like it was fired by an M4.”

“You walked away.”

“No.” Nate pushes against Brad’s grip so he can brush his fingers against Brad’s jaw. “I ran. I told you the truth. I thought maybe I could handle losing you better if I did it myself. I thought… I thought a lot of shit. About my career. My future. And I did the shittiest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“And now you want to pretend it never happened.”

“One look at you makes it clear that it did, that I can’t forget even if I thought I deserved to. You should boot me in the ass and kick me out. You should use me for target practice. I _hurt_ you because I was a coward. I never thought I was, but that’s exactly what I turned out to be.”

“All that shit. It’s still there. And it’ll be worse. People don’t believe in bisexuality, even with all the celebrities coming out. Or maybe they believe actors and musicians are different, and it just doesn’t exist in real people. They’ll claim she was a beard. They’ll say the girls aren’t yours. They’ll say you were biding time until you had the position and power before you admitted you take it up the ass.”

“I don’t always take it up the ass.” Nate’s thumb makes a slow sweep from Brad’s chin to the hinge of his jaw. “And maybe I’ve realized I don’t care what they think. I know what they’re going to say. She knows. I don’t know if the girls will understand it yet, but they know that I love them. That they mean the world to me. And, fuck, Brad.” Nate’s eyes shine with tears. Brad’s never seen Nate cry. The closest had been in Iraq when a lack of sleep and a lack of hope and the knowledge that they weren’t achieving a single goddamn thing broke everything down. “I’m so fucking tired of missing you.”

Brad lets go of Nate’s wrists, and Nate immediately slides his hands into Brad’s hair, fingers tightening into fists pulling Brad forward. Nate’s mouth is hot and laced with the undertones of the beer and the bite of salad dressing and he tastes like surrender. 

They kiss and bite and suck, and it’s like the crappy hotel room in England, desperate for each other. Nate’s lower lip plumps in Brad’s mouth and his teeth scrape against the hollow below Brad’s ear, just behind the line of his beard. Brad’s hands curve over Nate’s ass, holding him just as much as Nate’s hands keep Brad from moving away.

Nate’s hair is longer than when Brad shipped out, and it’s easy to catch a handful of it and bring Nate’s mouth back to his. Nate moans as Brad licks into his mouth, relearns the shape of him, the way the tip of his tongue teases Nate’s soft palate, traces his teeth. 

Nate’s low groans are wanton and broken. He whispers Brad’s name into his mouth like a prayer. He’s pliant to Brad’s touch. Too many memories assault him, and Brad feels like he’s drowning, like a fucking tidal wave is pulling him under. He knows he should stop, but he can’t. Because he’s never been able to stop when it came to Nate -- stop touching, stop caring, stop wanting, stop loving.

By the time Nate pulls back, they’re both panting hard and the yard is dark. The dogs have retreated to the house, and the air hums with insects. He’s pulled Nate close, higher on his thighs and the hard thrust of Nate’s cock is pressed against Brad’s through Nate’s jeans and Brad’s shorts. 

Nate licks his swollen lips. His eyes are dark in the light shining through the windows, and his mouth is red and wet. Nate swallows hard and inhales through his nostrils, exhaling slowly. His fingers trace Brad’s jaw again, scratch through his beard. “I don’t deserve you. I never have.”

“Yes.” Brad’s voice is low and soft, something fragile and dangerous all at once. “You do. You deserve the life you want, the future you choose.” Brad grabs Nate’s hips and pushes him back. “I can’t give you any of that.”

“You can. Because the life I want is with you.” Nate looks up and breathes again before returning his gaze to Brad. “You could tell me that I could never work for the government again. You could tell me I’m never going to hold office. You could tell me that this is our life. Here in your bunker with your dogs and target practice and computers and books. As long as you’re here, Brad? That’s the life I want.”

“I’ve heard this story before, Nate. From a couple of different people.” Brad slides his hands up and down Nate’s sides, slides them beneath Nate’s shirt. He’s hot and firm and different than Brad remembers. A different body, a different man. “And I’m not the same guy I was when I shipped out.”

“I’m not the same either. But I’d like a chance to see if we can find the same kind of thing with each other. If we can try. I’ll understand if you say no. I’d probably agree that you’d be doing the right thing.”

“Anything command agrees with has to automatically be wrong.” Brad looks at Nate for a long time, long enough that Nate shifts on his lap. “I already live in a compound in the middle of nowhere. I’ve got nowhere to run if you leave me again.”

“If I leave you again, you can hunt me down, use me for target practice, and bury my body in the woods.”

“Well, that sounds like something you’ve thought about.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“No.” Nate’s face falls for a moment, before it goes blank, stoic. Before he can move, Brad tightens his grip, his hands high enough that his thumbs can brush Nate’s nipples. “Not until we’re in the bedroom. This time I don’t want to stop.”

**

Nate walks into Brad’s room, taking in the AO quickly. Brad’s not one for much more than the basics, so there’s not much to be seen. Brad leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching Nate hungrily. Nate being this close to his bed makes Brad breathless in a way he’d given up a long time ago. “Take your clothes off, Nate.”

Nate looks over, turning so he’s facing Brad. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t do anything but stare at Brad, like he’s reading everything Brad’s doing his best to hide and protect. He reaches behind him and grabs the collar of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, tossing it aside. He’s bigger, thicker. The years show on him in the way that sitting for a living does. He’s still fit for a civilian, but he’s different than Brad remembers. He thinks that might be good, that he’s not the same Nate he was before.

While Brad’s looking over Nate’s chest and shoulders, Nate’s fingers are undoing his belt, unfastening it and pulling the leather apart. He sits on the edge of the bed and kicks off his shoes, pulls off his socks. He tucks them under the edge before he stands, undoing his fly and guiding faded denim over his hips. 

Brad lets out a long breath and shifts slightly. Nate’s still watching him, still focused on Brad’s eyes. He steps out of his jeans and Brad lets his gaze drop. Nate’s got runner’s legs, slim and muscled. His thighs are pale to mid-way and then the tan he gets from his shorts takes over. Brad looks up and Nate’s got his head tilted. Brad’s not sure if he’s wondering if he’s passing muster or if he’s waiting on Brad to change his mind. 

Hooking his thumbs in his boxer briefs, Nate slides his thumbs from the side to the front and then guides the fabric over his cock, hard and curved and dark. Dark blond hairs circle Nate’s navel, arrow down to his pubic hair, the base of his dick. Nate steps out of his underwear and waits. Brad’s not sure either of them know what they’re waiting for.

Nate’s voice is barely above a whisper. “How do you want me?”

“Fuck.” Brad crosses the room in two strides and wraps his hand around the back of Nate’s neck, pulling him into a hard kiss. There’s nothing tender or loving about it. It’s lips grinding against teeth, teeth biting hard enough that there’s the coppery tang of blood. Brad fists his hand in the short hair at the nape of Nate’s neck and jerks his head back, his beard as rough as his kisses as he feasts on the skin of Nate’s throat. He doesn’t care about marks or burns or bruises. All he cares about is Nate belonging to _him_ and no one else. 

Nate’s hands scramble to gets Brad’s shirt off of him, breaking them apart for the seconds it takes him to strip it off Brad’s arms, over his head. Brad’s belt and jeans are next, his boxer briefs pushed down with them. Brad shoves Nate onto the bed and shoves out of his clothes, his socks, his shoes in the quick, efficient movements that _are_ Brad. 

He crawls between Nate’s legs, forcing Nate to spread them wider as his knees brush Nate’s thighs. This time Brad’s not surveying the terrain of Nate’s body. This time he’s figuring out his plan of attack. He’s mapped Nate’s skin before, and weather and age have come through and changed it, but it’s not so different. 

When Brad moves in closer, Nate raises his legs, grabbing the backs of his knees and opening himself up for Brad. The noise Brad makes is guttural, animal, and he slides his arms beneath Nate’s thighs and leans in, Nate’s knees to his shoulders, bent to Brad’s will.

“Not gonna fuck you yet, Nate.” Brad kisses him hard, licking the split skin of Nate’s lower lip. “Going to taste you first. Going to bite and suck on every inch of you until you’re one giant bruise, branded mine.”

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

“You’re going to beg me and beg me.” Brad moves closer and puts his mouth to Nate’s ear. “And when you’ve begged all you can and you’re sobbing, broken and desperate. That’s when I’m going to fuck you. You’re going to feel me for weeks, Nate. Every move, every twitch of muscle, every breath is going to remind you that you belong to me.”

Nate nods and turns his head, trying to captures Brad’s mouth. He’s not fast enough and Brad pulls back, grabbing Nate’s ankle. He brings it up to his mouth, sucking gently on the protruding bone, scraping his teeth over it. Nate’s cock is already leaking, but this is about Brad. Nate’s incidental in this moment. Nate is Brad’s canvas. 

He works slowly and deliberately. Bites lightly at Nate’s achilles tendon, sucks wet circles against his calves, bites and sucks hickeys in dark lines up Nate’s inner thighs. He pushes Nate’s legs up again and scrapes his teeth against the back of them, biting the curve of Nate’s ass hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth.

He guides Nate onto his stomach but pulls his hips back so he’s not pressed against the bed, can’t grind or thrust against anything. He starts at Nate’s ankles again, leaving more marks, darker and harder. From tanned skin to pale, he covers it in scratches and bruises, hickeys dark purple at the center and ringed red at the edges. A trail of bites and teeth marks paint Nate’s thighs until the skin is red and swollen, until there are dark crescents of Brad’s bite leading to the curve of Nate’s ass.

He rubs the globes of Nate’s ass, squeezing and spreading them. Nate turns his head sideways off the pillow and moans, though there’s a hitch in his breath, a thickness that comes from pain. Brad squeezes again, runs both hands to the small of Nate’s back then pulls one away and slaps his open palm hard against the cheek.

Nate gasps and Brad does it again, one side and then the other. Nate’s skin turns pink, then red, and Nate jerks with every hit, sucking in air and practically choking on it. Brad takes time between the hits, never letting Nate know quiet when they’re coming. It keeps him off guard, so he’s wary but unexpecting when Brad leans down and bites.

“ _Oh fuck_.” Nate’s voice is hoarse, the words garbled. Nate’s dropped to his elbows, his head bent forward. Brad can see the hard curve of Nate’s dick between his legs, the familiar curve flushed and leaking even more than when Brad started. He bites again and again -- the meat of Nate’s ass and then the sensitive skin that frames his hole. Those get a noise from Nate that makes Brad’s hips jerk and Nate’s cock twitch as he comes.

Brad shoves Nate down on the wet spot of his orgasm and lies on top of him, cock between Nate’s asscheeks. He grabs Nate’s wrists and holds him down as he feasts on Nate’s shoulders. Nate writhes underneath him, groaning and gasping. Brad ignores him, ignores the soft little cries, ignores Nate saying his name, ignores Nate’s begging.

Finally pulling away, he scratches long lines down Nate’s back before he flips him over again. “Look at me.”

Nate opens his eyes, meeting Brad’s gaze. His eyes are glassy, pupils dilated. Tears hover in the corners and there are tracks of them on his cheeks. Nate’s lips part, his mouth falling open as his eyes close again. He’loose and pliant and Brad growls low in his throat. Nate’s too relaxed. He’s too hazy from his orgasm. 

Brad bites a nipple hard, catching the nub between his teeth and grinding it between them. Nate’s neck arches and he cries out, but Brad ignores him, gives him no reprieve as he bites again, this time on the areola, sucking the nipple in and flicking his tongue over it rapidly.

Nate moans again, so Brad pulls back to bite again, harder this time. This time Nate’s hips come off the bed, and Brad reaches between Nate’s legs and grabs his balls, squeezing them. Nate thrashes, which just catches his nipple against Brad’s teeth again and again. He’s arched off the bed, heels and shoulders only things touching, and the way Nate’s torso twists, Brad knows he’s starting to feel the sting of the marks Brad left behind.

One of Nate’s legs comes up, wrapping around Brad’s hips. Brad huffs a laugh on the wet skin of Nate’s chest and moves to his other nipple, treating it just as roughly. Nate’s thrusting down, pushing against Brad’s hand, and the knuckle of Brad’s middle finger rubs against the skin above Nate’s hole. 

“Look at you.” Brad’s voice is gravelly, hungry, possessive. “Want to get fucked, don’t you? Gonna beg for it? How bad do you want it?”

“Please.” Nate’s voice breaks, barely above a whisper. His hair is clinging to his sweaty forehead, tendrils curled and damp. “Oh, please.”

“Lube’s in the top drawer.” He bites the soft skin of Nate’s stomach. There’s more give over his muscles, a desk job taking its toll. Nate fumbles for the lube with hands that don’t seem to quite work right, thrusting the bottle at Brad. Brad takes it and moves down lower, catching Nate’s softened cock in his mouth and scraping it lightly between his teeth.

The sound Nate makes is indecent, the most pornographic thing Brad’s ever heard, and he has quite a history of hearing porn, often through the closeness and privacy of his headphones. Instead of releasing Nate’s cock, Brad holds the head between his teeth and sucks. It doesn’t quite elicit the same sound, but the fact that Nate goes silent despite obviously still trying to make that noise is heady in its own right.

Brad flips the lube open and pours it over three of his fingers. He keeps sucking, tasting pre-come or his previous orgasm on Nate’s dick. Rubbing all three fingers over Nate’s hole makes Nate choke on the remnants of his noiseless moan. Brad takes Nate’s cock deep as he rubs across the furled muscle, over it, around it. He catches the rim with his finger and rubs it. Nate muscles in his thighs and hips tighten, and Brad pulls off his cock, resting his chin in the crease of Nate’s iliac crest. 

Brad watches Nate as he slowly pushes a finger in. His thumb catches the bottom curve of Nate’s hole, holding it open so he can work his index finger in. Nate’s previous orgasm has his muscles relaxed somewhat so that with the lube, it’s easy to slide all the way to the second knuckle. Brad curves his finger slightly, then turns it in a slow circle. Nate’s staring down at him, the green of his eyes nearly obliterated by the black.

His lips are parted, shiny as he licks them repeatedly. Brad watches as he pulls his finger out then presses it in again a little deeper. Nate’s breath stutters out, his body shuddering as Brad does it again, this time working it all the way in so his hand is right against Nate’s ass. Brad keeps going, the same motion, the same thrust intermixed with him curving his finger, with the slow turn, knuckle pressing against Nate’s sensitive flesh. 

Brad smiles slowly as he continues the motion. Nate’s thrusting, fucking down on Brad’s finger. Brad keeps the pace steady, one finger only. Nate closes his eyes and drops his head back to the pillow. “F-f-fucker.”

“Mm.” 

Nate tenses around the finger and then relaxes. He raises his head up and looks at Brad with a mixture of emotions Brad doesn’t have the brain power to parse. “Pl…” Nate has to take a breath, swallow, but his voice still comes out high, wrecked. “Please.”

“Please, huh?” Brad rubs his knuckle on the outside of Nate’s hole. Brad’s cock is an aching, heavy weight between his legs. Torturing Nate is the most beautiful thing in the world, though it’s not without its issues. “Please what?”

“Fuck,” Nate whines. “F-uck.”

“Not ready to fuck yet, sir.” Brad drawls the words slowly. “Need more prep than this.”

Nate makes another noise, a mixture of frustration and want that ends in a whimper. Brad kisses Nate’s hip bone and flicks the lube bottle open again, pouring more on his fingers. He pulls the first finger out to Nate’s rim and then uses the thumb of his other hand to open him again, open him wider. Nate whimpers again, then gasps as Brad pushes a second finger in with the first.

With two fingers in, Brad works him deeper, faster. Nate’s making a low, constant noise at the back of his throat that rumbles through him. Brad can feel it from where his head is lying on Nate’s upper thigh. He scissors and bends and spreads his fingers, pushing them deep. Nate’s cock is fully hard again, and his body jerks when Brad runs his fingers over Nate’s prostate.

Nate makes a louder sound, nothing like words, and grinds down. Brad can see every twitch of muscle, every shaky exhale. He can feel Nate’s balls against his hand, feel them tighten. Brad thrusts his fingers in again, then stops, pulling them back slowly until they’re barely inside Nate. There’s another sound when Brad stops, doesn’t move. It’s like Nate’s been jerked out of a dream, like betrayal. 

“Don’t get to come again, Nate. Not until I let you.”

Nate shivers, then moans as Brad pushes a third finger in as he thrusts them forward, bending his head and looking away from Nate so he can suck at the pulse in his groin. Nate growls and thrusts down, digging his heels into the mattress for leverage, but Brad doesn’t let his fingers sink any deeper. Brad alternates sucking on and blowing air across Nate’s skin, waiting until Nate’s body relaxes slightly, until he slips away from the edge of orgasm. 

As soon as the tension eases, Brad starts moving his fingers again, a third one widening the stretch. Nate sinks his teeth into his lower lip, the skin blanching white but rimmed with red. Brad smiles and moves his head, pressing a kiss to the base of Nate’s cock. Nate’s pubic hairs tickle his lips and Brad hums, which causes Nate to jerk his hips hard. Brad takes advantage of the moment and starts thrusting in harder, fucking Nate with three fingers, his thumb tracing at the rim. 

Nate reaches for him, but Brad stays out of reach. He knows if Nate touches him, if his hands dig into Brad’s hair or his fingers stroke Brad’s skin, Brad’s going to lose his control. As it is, he’s not sure how long he’s going to last. Licking a stripe up Nate’s cock, Brad shifts away, carefully pulling his fingers free.

“No,” Nate sobs. Brad looks up and there are tears at the corners of Nate’s eyes, tracks of them disappearing into his hair. “Pl-pl-” He can’t seem to manage the word, just shaking his head trying to reach for Brad. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Brad carefully helps Nate turn over, a hand around Nate’s waist keeping him on his hands and knees. “Need you to stay like this. Put those years of training to work. You can do this for me, can't you?”

Brad doesn’t recognize his own voice, the soft, careful cadence. He recognizes the emotions churning in his stomach, in his chest. Recognizes them as much as he hates and loves them in equal measure. 

Nate’s nodding and so Brad carefully moves his hand to Nate’s back and rubs small circles on his skin while he’s getting a condom from the drawer. He keeps his thigh against Nate’s when he has to use both hands to open and slide on the condom, then he rubs Nate’s rim with the fingers of one hand as the other guides his cock against Nate’s hole. 

“Breathe for me,” Brad whispers. Nate shivers and tries, and it’s enough that Brad can push in. The head feels like it takes forever, like being in a vice until he pushes through and then he’s inside Nate. Brad groans and forces himself to still, his hips hard against Nate’s ass. Brad breathes, taking a moment just to _feel_ Nate, to feel how goddamn much he’s missed this. “Christ.”

“B-brad. Please.” It’s desperate and broken and sounds like Nate did the first time they’d fucked, after Brad had spent hours teasing him and hours fucking him. 

Brad shakes his head, back in the moment. He wraps an arm around Nate’s waist and pulls him back, shifting back so he’s on his heels and Nate’s settled on Brad’s thighs. Nate groans and his head falls back onto Brad’s shoulder. Brad’s arm braces Nate and Nate’s breath fans over Brad's throat. 

“Love you.”

Brad snaps his hips, stopping Nate from saying anything else, even though he’s already said enough. He fucks up into Nate with all the emotions he’s hidden behind the wall of ice he’s built up -- anger and frustration and pain and hurt and need and want and love. Fuck, Brad loves him so much, so much it hurts, because Nate’s the only person that had the power to hurt him, and now Brad’s giving him the power again on a silver fucking platter.

Nate moans, mouth open against Brad’s neck, so he feels the damp of panted breaths on his skin. Brad slides his hand up to Nate’s chest, pinching one of the nipples hard, darkening the redness from the bites Brad had given him. Nate’s cock jerks and he turns his head, mouthing at Brad’s jaw. “Love you. S-so much.”

Brad growls and grabs Nate’s dick with his other hand, wrapping his fingers tight around it and jerking Nate off hard and fast. The friction is rough on Nate’s skin if the hisses he presses to Brad’s throat are any indication, and Brad knows it’s rougher and tougher than Nate likes. He fucks up as Nate grinds down and Brad needs Nate to stop talking.

He works Nate over, getting him gasping and writhing, focusing on the head of his cock until Nate shudders hard and comes all over Brad’s hand. Before he’s even finished, Brad shoves him back onto the bed and grabs Nate’s hips, digging his fingers in and holding Nate like he’s holding the words in his throat. 

He fucks him hard and deep, and now that he’s come, Nate’s body fucking welcomes him in. It’s like coming home, which makes Brad angrier than he’s been in a long time, so he pistons his hips, knowing when Nate starts shivering and making soft, hiccuping sobs from overstimulation that he’s nailing his prostate every time. 

Finally Brad comes, continuing to thrust into Nate until he’s done, until he feels emptied out. He grabs the condom and presses a hand to Nate’s back as he pulls away, easing carefully out of him. Nate shudders and Brad strips the condom off and tosses it into the small trash can beside his bed before pressing against Nate’s side, stroking up and down his spine.

“Don’t say it again,” Brad whispers. 

Nate lies completely still and silent except for the ragged breaths and his heaving chest. After a moment he nods and some of the tension drains from Brad’s shoulders. 

“Gonna get you some water, then we’re gonna strip off the mess you made of my bed, wrap ourselves up in blankets and go the fuck to sleep.” He shakes his head when Nate opens his mouth. “That’s an order.”

“Not the boss of me,” Naste slurs.

“Yeah, I’d like to see you fight me right now. You’re like a fucking kitten.”

Nate reaches out and scratches his fingernails down Brad’s arm, leaving streaks in the sweat. “Meow.”

“Just stay in bed.” He kisses Nate’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” 

**

Brad wakes up before dawn and slips out of the bed. Nate stays asleep like a fucking POG, but Brad’s actually fine with that. It lets him get dressed in his running clothes, grab the dogs, and get the fuck out of there to clear his head. He never takes the same route, weaving in and out of his property and the state park it abuts. He doesn’t leash the dogs. He doesn’t have to. They stay close enough that Brad knows exactly where they are, even if he can’t see them. They’re both rescue dogs, battered and beaten and scarred from the dog fighting ring they’d been saved from. Brad’s never had a problem with them. He treats them with dignity and respect and they do the same. They’ve got a keen sense of people, and the only person he’s seen them snarl at was the idiot who actually thought about trying to rob Brad’s house.

The guy was relieved when the cops showed up, and Brad’s not sure if he scared him more than the dogs did. His wolfish smile when he’d verbally mentioned the guy peeing his pants made Brad figure it was him, but his teeth were less pointed and he wasn’t drooling slavishly, so he can’t be sure.

Still, it’s a good memory. 

Brad slows to a walk and looks at his watch. He’s been gone for two hours, probably pushed himself further than he should have, though he’d spent plenty of time time doing his best to run away from his thoughts when Nate had disappeared. He whistles and the dogs both come to him. Brad squats down and wraps an arm around each of them. 

“Never fall in love. Love is bullshit.” Dando and Grim both tilt their heads at him, then Dando licks him across the nose. “Fierce beasts, they told me. They’ll never be tamed, they told me. They’re too broken, they told me. You’re both fucking ridiculous. I’ve seen babies meaner than you two.”

Grim growls and then barks happily, rushing out from under Brad’s arm and running off, then coming back to him, leaping onto Brad and knocking him onto his back. It’s a quick, easy wrestling match -- there’s no question which of the three of them is the alpha -- and Dando dances at the side of them, barking encouragement to Grim, Brad, or both.

Grim eventually flops onto his back, front paws in the air. Brad settles back on the grass as well and Dando walks over and sprawls across Brad’s stomach. Putting one hand under his head, Brad pets Dando, rubbing at the edge of the large scar that used to be his right ear. Dando’s tail wags and he woofs softly. Grim responds, coming over to them and settling against Brad’s side. 

“”He fucked me up. I knew better, but I let myself think that it was going to be different. He didn’t even have the excuse of loving someone else. Just not me. Not enough.”

Grim whines and Brad tugs his hand out from behind his head and buries his fingers in her fur. 

“I wasn’t mad. Not at him. How fucked is that, huh? I was mad at myself. Because I kept thinking it was me. Or wasn’t me, I guess. I wasn’t the one. The right one.” He blows out a breath. “And now I’m talking to my fucking dogs like they’re some pussy-ass liberal couples therapists.”

Dando raises his head and gives Brad what can only be described as a grin. Brad puts his hand over her face and waggles it, then pushes her off so he can get to his feet. 

“Yeah, yeah. I got nothing against therapists. But I don’t think, when your client lies down on the couch, that you’re supposed to pile on top of him. Some sort of ethics violation.” He turns and looks at them both seriously, then points at the space between them. They both sink down onto their haunches, mouths open and tongues out. Their eyes are bright and trusting and how the fuck does anyone deserve dogs?

He fights his smile and straightens up, turning away from them again. He walks a few steps then transitions into a light jog. He’s a ways away before he kicks it up to a run and lets out a piercing whistle. Both dogs start barking loud and wild and Brad can hear them racing after him. He builds up speed and keeps going, leading them back on a winding path toward home.

**

Nate’s in the kitchen hunched over the table with his face in the steam rising off his coffee. Brad gives the dogs fresh water that they slurp down, spraying it all over the mat the dishes sit on. They’re too busy quenching their thirst to notice him feeding them, but he knows pretty soon the sound of crunching will be overwhelming.

“You look like you got rode hard and put away wet.”

Nate pulls one hand out of his hair to very eloquently flip Brad off. “Pretty sure I did the riding.”

“There is that.” Brad grabs a water bottle out of the refrigerator and drains in, refilling it and putting it back in the fridge. Thirst somewhat quenched, he pours himself a cup of coffee and starts pulling food out of the fridge. “Omelet?”

Nate just nods, so Brad gets to work chopping vegetables and shredding cheese. He makes amazing omelets, he knows. He’s had enough one-night stands and lovers tell him as much. And Nate’s a lot more than either of those things. He’s definitely earned an omelet.

Nate takes a deep breath and leans back. Brad catches the slight wince out of the corner of his eye as Nate’s weight shifts, as he _feels_ the night before just like Brad promised. Nate half-laughs, half-groans and picks up his coffee cup, blowing across the surface before taking a slow sip. 

Brad works in silence while Nate works his way through his coffee. The dogs have cleaned out all of their food and disappeared into the yard to gnaw at a Wimbledon-sized collection of tennis balls. 

“Are we going to talk?”

Brad carefully folds the omelet and sprinkles cheese on top, letting it settle together before he slides it out of the pan and onto Nate’s plate. He sets it in front of Nate along with a fork. “Eat.”

“I actually rank higher than you. I’m supposed to tell you what to do.”

“You used to tell me to do the shit command told you to tell us to do, and look how fucked that situation turned out. I’m enlisted, the things I say make _sense_. So shut up and eat.” He smirks at Nate and points at the plate with his spatula. “Sir.”

Nate mutters something under his breath, but Brad lets it go so he can concentrate on making his omelet. As it cooks, he pours them both fresh coffee and, when his eggs are finally done, he sits across the table from Nate. For all his pissiness, Nate’s actually almost done with his omelet, looking indecent as he takes a bite off his fork. He knows Nate knows he’s watching even before Nate looks at him through his lashes and then closes his eyes, parting his lips as he pulls the fork free.

“I saw _9 ½ Weeks_. That food shit doesn’t work on me.”

Nate snorts a laugh. “Bullshit. I could seduce you with Cheez Whiz.”

“Ooh. Talk dirty to me, baby.” Brad leans back in his chair. Nate meets his gaze and slowly his smile fades. 

“Answer’s still no.”

Brad nods. “It is.”

“I deserve that, I guess.” Nate exhales slowly. 

“No. I mean, probably. But that’s not what this is about. Where you are and where I am? Up here?” He taps his temple. “Two totally different universes. You’ve got your shit all figured out. You made the choice to leave me, so you’ve had it rationalized from the beginning. You walked away on your terms, and I’ve been living with your terms, because I wasn’t about to fuck your life up.”

“And then I came back and fucked yours?”

“Something along those lines.” Brad rubs his palm over his mouth. “Your idea? Your plan? It’s a good one. You’re dead-ass determined to change the world, Nate, and I honestly think you’ve got a shot at doing it.”

“But not with you.”

“I’ll help. Consult by phone and email. I’ll point out every single retarded, donkey-fucked mistake Ray makes so you can all mock him mercilessly in my stead.”

“”They’re not going to work with me without you. They’re not exactly my biggest fans.”

“I’ll talk to them.” Brad sighs. “Fuck.” He gets up and grabs a bottle of single malt out of the cupboard along with a glass. He pours himself three fingers and drinks it in a series of slow sips. He keeps his back to Nate, wondering why he can’t be the Iceman around Nate, why he can only be Brad. “I’ll talk to them. They’ll agree it’s a good idea. They’ll give you shit for a really long time, and you may regret your decision to work with them, but they’ll do it. Country needs all the damn help it can get, even if it comes from a bunch of Whiskey Tango fuck-ups.”

“We’re all better with you there.”

“I’m not.” He turns around and leans against the counter. “I’d drop the goddamned world if you asked me to, Nate. You know and hold parts of me that I didn’t even know existed. But I don’t know that I trust they’re in safekeeping. So, no. I can’t work side by side with you. I can’t hold your hand and be your cheerleader and your devil’s advocate and your pride flag.”

“That’s not what…”

“Ask me again.” Brad shrugs, but he doesn’t look away from Nate, barely blinks. “Ask me again, Nate. I’ll give in. I’ll say yes. You know it and I know it.”

“And you’ll hate me for it.”

Brad shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. Eventually.”

“So I just walk away.”

“You’ve got my contact information. Like I said. I’ll consult.”

Nate nods slowly. He catches his lower lip between his thumb and pointer finger, tugging it lightly. “And last night? What was that? Goodbye? Pity fuck?”

Brad feels like his hearts just been gripped and twisted, wrung out. “You know what it was.”

Nate looks up at the ceiling and lowers his head as he slowly exhales. “Why won’t you say it.”

“It’s like being arrested. Anything I say can and will be used against me.”

“It’s not a weapon, Brad.”

“Sir, it’s a fucking Schwerer Gustav and you fucking know it.” He’s not sure what Nate sees in his face, but something in him seems to settle, resign to the fact that Brad’s not going to mean yes, even if Nate makes him say it. 

“Not saying it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“No. It doesn’t.” Brad walks over to Nate and kneels at his feet, pressing close as Nate spreads his legs. Looking up at him, Brad wonders how he’s ever going to look away. He reaches up and traces the slight stubble that darkens Nate’s jaw. Nate opens his mouth and Brad puts his finger over his lips. “No.”

“No.” Nate closes his eyes and nods, then leans forward to rest his forehead on Brad’s. “I’m going to use your shower then and go. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“I’ll make you a fresh pot of coffee to take on the road.”

“Or we could…” He shakes his head again and huffs out a rueful laugh. “No.”

Brad watches Nate walk out of the room, every piece of him screaming yes.

**

Brad stands at the side of Nate’s car, handing him a thermos through the open window. “I’ll send these notes back to you later. I’ve got a lecture tour for a couple weeks coming up, so it’ll mostly be email for a while. Not sure I’m going to have a lot of access to my phone.”

“Okay. I’ll put you on speed-dial. And whatever the email equivalent of that is.”

“Okay.” Nate’s hair is still damp, and his bangs curl slightly. Brad leans in and kisses him. He intends it to be quick and painless, but instead Nate’s mouth opens for him and he loses time in Nate’s kiss. Eventually they break apart, and a quick glances shows him Nate’s as hard as he is. It’s kind of a comfort. 

“Stop grinning. You can go inside and take care of it. I’ve got to drive back to the airport.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Speaking of sucking…” He waggles his eyebrows and grins, even though there’s something sad in it. 

“Go the fuck away, Nate.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He starts the car and Brad waves.

“Have a good day at work, dear.”

Nate backs away slightly, turning so he can head down the road. Before he starts off, he leans out the window and gives Brad an absolutely filthy smile. “You’d make a great fifties housewife, Brad. Look amazing in a pearl necklace.”


End file.
